This was not the time or place for a discussion. Our margin of safety was narrow enough as it was, and if we didn’t hightail it out of there fast, it would soon disappear. “Cassandra, you have to listen to me,” I urged. “These guys are serious, and they mean to kill us. As soon as they find out they’ve failed, they’re gonna be on our backs like mint jelly on a lamb shank. And they have an advantage; they know this terrain. They know we’re together. If you try to get back to the river from here, they’re going to find you, and if they don’t kill you right away, they’ll use you to try to find me.”
She shook her head. “I won’t tell them where you’re going, Russell, I promise. I’ll tell them I have no idea where you were heading, that you were just some guy I picked up for some fun, and now it’s over.” I saw a glimpse of her familiar raffish smile when she added, “And let me tell you, this is sooooo over.”
“They won’t believe you, Cassandra. They don’t care about any of that. But if they think you can help them, they’ll do anything to get information out of you.” I gave her hands an extra squeeze. “Anything.”
“You don’t know that!” she argued back. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t,” I answered back. “But I’ve dealt with these kinds of people before. Think, Cassandra. You know Jaegar had a gun. You saw what they did to the Jeep. These aren’t disgruntled businessmen we’re dealing with here.”
I saw the look in her eyes begin to change. She knew I was right.
“Look, I’m sorry I got you into this,” I told her, and I meant it. “But it’s too late now. We’ve gotta get away from here while we still have a chance, while they think we’re dead. We have to find a place to hide until they’ve lost our scent.”
“Why do you keep on saying ‘they’? Don’t you mean this Jaegar guy? Do you think there’s more than one person out to get you?” She stopped there, dawning realization eroding her strong but now faltering features. “What the hell have you done, Russell Quant?”
I’d been thinking about exactly the same stuff. “Cassandra, I wasn’t lying when I told you I wasn’t sure why Jaegar is after me. But what I am sure about is that there has to be more than just him behind all of this. Jaegar knows too much. How did he know to find me in Zambia? How did he get a vehicle so fast after he came across the river? How did he know to set the explosives on that Jeep? He has to have had help. I know it’s a dreadful thought, but we have to assume there’s more than just one bad guy after us.”
I saw her head make a slow bobbing motion up and down as if she were finally coming to admit the horrible truth of the situation to herself. “How far is it to Chobe from here?”
“We’re not going to Chobe,” I told her.
“What? Why not?”
“Cassandra, if they knew we were going to be in that Jeep, then they know we’re headed for Chobe. When they find out we’re not dead, that’s the first place they’ll go looking to finish the job. We have to find someplace else to hole up.”
She glanced about at the scrubby landscape, trees scarred to premature death by elephant tusks, stalagmite-like termite hills that looked like mini pyramids and, seeing no handy Four Seasons Hotel nearby, threw up her hands and eyebrows and regarded me with an “I hope you have a plan” look in her wide eyes.
I didn’t. Not really. All I knew was that I had to get her—and me—out of there as soon as possible. “This way,” I said with the authority of every hopelessly lost city guy traipsing through rural Saskatchewan.
“Okay.” She nodded resolutely, no fading flower for long.
After grabbing her bags, Cassandra followed my Rambo lead through the dense cover of trees and reeds, on the way to safety.
As we snuck away, I noticed that the rain had finally stopped.
It was a going to be a beautiful evening in Botswana.
Just as remote and unspoiled as Mashatu, the Chobe area, with its not-so-bald prairie-like landscape, provided us sufficient camouflage as Cassandra and I stealthily crab-walked our way in search of a secure refuge. We kept as close to the river as we could without revealing ourselves, hoping it would lead us to some type of shelter before dark or an unwanted animal encounter. After a long and sometimes treacherous journey, it did. We were never quite sure whether the place was an impromptu settlement of semi-nomadic Africans or an actual village, or perhaps a camp that provided nearby game lodges with willing and cheap labour, but it didn’t much matter to us. For a very reasonable price, an English-speaking lady, Masha, offered us a room, a bed, some food, and, hopefully, a safe haven until we could figure out what the heck to do next.
“God, I am so tired I could sleep standing up,” Cassandra announced once we were alone inside our room.
The place was tiny and dark, hot and musty-smelling, and we loved every inch of it. We were so exhausted (and relieved to be in one piece) that a used chicken coop would have seemed a paradise. Cassandra pulled off her scarf, khaki jacket, and T-shirt, leaving her with only a fancy—by my inexperienced evaluation—bra on (it had lots of lace, and each cup had a patterned underbelly.)
“Don’t worry,” she said with a fleeting look in my direction. “I’m not going to seduce you again. I just want to clean up a bit before moss starts growing under my arms.” And with that she headed for the basin of tepid water provided by our hostess.
I shrugged and pulled off my own top layer, down to a bare chest, and got in line. Despite our close quarters, the heat and humidity of the day (all of which seemed to have gathered in our room), and the inexorable sexuality that exuded from my travelling companion like scent from a sachet, I had to show her I wasn’t afraid of no woman, and that I, too, considered our sexual miscommunication in Cape Town to be over and long forgotten.
Just as we were towelling off and feeling much better for it, Masha gave a half-knock and let herself into the room with a tray laden with two plates of some kind of bok stew, mealie bread, and a jug of iced tea. She set everything down on a small wooden table with one leg significantly shorter than the other three and left without a word to either of us. We pulled up two rickety chairs, placed an oil-burning lamp between our dishes so we could see what we were eating, and dived in, hungry as hippos.
“So how do we get out of this mess, Russell?” Cassandra asked the million-dollar question once half our meal was gone. The food was very tasty, if a bit heavy on the salt. “How do we get ourselves back to Vic Falls?”
“Things will have cooled down by tomorrow morning,” I said, telling a bit of a white lie and sounding more confident than I felt. “We’ll take you back to Kasane, or maybe we’ll ask Masha if she knows of another nearby river crossing that might be safer to use.”
Cassandra laid down her spoon and looked at me. “You’re not coming?”
I shook my head.
“Russell, what the hell is going on? Tell me now or I’ll start screaming.”
I saw a now familiar crinkle at the corner of her eyes. She was teasing, but only sort of.
“It’s safer if you go back alone,” I told her. “They’re not after you; they don’t know who you are…so far. You’re in danger because of me, and as much as you love escapades and all that, this is over. This isn’t The African Queen or Romancing the Stone or Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. It’s time for us to part ways.”
“I don’t know what that means. I don’t watch much television, b—”
I winced. “They’re movies.”
“Whatever. You didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you coming with me? You didn’t want me to leave on my own before.”
“That was different. Danger was imminent. If you’d tried to get back to the river then, they would have caught you. By tomorrow morning…well, if we’re lucky and make it through tonight, things will be different, the heat will be off. By then they’ll have no idea where we are. You’ll have a much better chance of getting back to Livingstone safely.”
“Chance?” she said with an unhappy look on her face. “Russell, wouldn’t i
t just be safer for me to stay with you now?”
I shook my head. “They’re still looking for me. After what happened today, I don’t think they’re going to give up easily. You need to get away from all this.”
She arched a finely shaped eyebrow. “What exactly is this? Why did we almost get blown to bits? Are you….” And she stopped there as if a new, uncomfortable thought had just entered her head. “Are you a fugitive? Are you running from the law? Did you do something illegal?”
I would have been offended if it wasn’t that I could see how her hypothesis made perfect sense. “No, of course not,” I assured her.
“All this is very un-mayor-like,” she said with an unreadable glint in her eye. She took a gulp of her drink. “God, I wish we had some scotch.”
For half a second I had no idea what she was talking about, then, oh yeah, I’d told her I was the mayor of Saskatoon. Yeesh. If only I were. I’d be safe at home right now, presiding over pancake breakfasts and handing out keys to the city. Well, I decided, there was no comeback for that. Although I did toy with the idea of telling her Saskatoon was considering trade relations with Botswana, and I was here to negotiate for their best bobotie and braai recipes in exchange for our Hungarian goulash, Aboriginal bannock, and Ukrainian perogy secrets. “Cassandra, I am so sorry I got you into this,” was all I finally said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her candle-lit skin glistening from the heat of the night. “No one got me into anything. I’m the only one who controls what I do, who I do it with, and where I do it. Now quit stalling and tell me exactly what the hell is going on. Just how stupid do you think I am? I get it, Russell; I get that you’re no mayor, and I get that you might not want to tell me exactly who you are or what you’re doing, but I think after just about getting my ass turned to ash I deserve something more than misplaced, macho male protectionism.”
She had a point. And I didn’t think she was very stupid at all, quite the contrary. “You’re right, about all of that. I’m not the mayor of Saskatoon. But to tell you the truth, Cassandra, I’m not exactly sure why Jaegar is after me or wh—”
“Liar.”
“Cassandra, I’m telling you….”
“Okay, okay. Jaegar’s the big guy with the gun we saw at the airport and who got on the plane at Sal Island?” she said to be absolutely clear.
“Yeah, that’s the guy.”
“And you think it was him who blew up the Jeep?”
That pulled me up short. Of course it was Jaegar. He’d been turning up behind me like a dog’s tail ever since Sal Island. He’d put a gun to my back at Livingstone airport. It had to be him...didn’t it?
“It could have been anyone,” Cassandra continued. “Sure, we saw him at the airport, and we assume it was him following us to Kazungula.”
“He was in Kazungula. I saw him.”
“But we never saw him come across to Kasane.”
“I saw him get on the speedboat,” I countered.
“But you never saw him after that. Right?”
That was true. Once we’d reached Kasane, we’d gotten into the doomed Jeep and skedaddled out of there. The dark vehicle with the monster grille had come up pretty quickly behind us, but I never actually saw who was in it. And, to be fair (although I hated to do it), even if it was Jaegar in that truck, that wasn’t proof that he’d arranged for our Jeep to explode. Still, page one hundred and twelve in the detective handbook says: if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, chances are it’s a duck. And as far as I was concerned, Jaegar had a nice big bill, webbed feet, and a fine set of tail feathers.
Cassandra expelled a frustrated snort. “But it’s obvious someone is after you. You’re probably right; it probably is Jaegar, what with the gun in your back at the airport. Although, I have to admit, I did not see the gun in his hands, so I’m just taking your word for it.”
I gave her my most sour look.
“Still, Russell, how can you not know why Jaegar—or whoever—is after you? You must be involved in something.” She gave me a suspicious glare. “Are you lying to me? Because if you’re lying to me, I’m outta here right now, and let me tell you, mister, I won’t go quietly! I’ll have every border patrol guard, African warrior, gun-toting rebel, and itinerant lion breathing down your neck before you can count your toes!”
I could handle all of that, except the lion. It was time to come clean (or at least a little less dirty). “Cassandra, I’m a detective.” I swallowed the last of my iced tea to wash down some mealie bread stuck in my throat. “I’m in Africa trying to find a missing person. That’s it. There’s nothing much more complicated to it than that. But for some reason this Jaegar character wants to keep me from doing what I’m here to do.”
She gave me a raised eyebrow and a theory I had not wanted to consider: “Have you considered that maybe this missing person of yours doesn’t want to be found?”
Masha assured me the well-trodden dirt path she pointed out was a safe route, even in the dark, and would take me directly to the front gates of the Chobe Game Lodge, after which point it would simply be a matter of following a paved thoroughfare. It took me about half an hour to make the trip, including a few stops to listen for wild beasts, which, I was thankful, never materialized.
Unlike Mashatu’s rustic appearance, Chobe’s architecture was Moorish elegance with a wide, sweeping roadway leading up to the main building. I found a spot in a clump of nearby bushes from where I could case out the dimly lit front entry and consider my next move. I knew from what Masha (whose son and two sisters worked there) had told me, that all the rooms in the lodge overlooked the Chobe River and adjacent Caprivi flood plain, which meant my easiest and only land access would be from this side of the building. The question was how to do so without drawing unwanted attention. I had no idea if Jaegar—or any other bad guy—was waiting to pounce on me, and I certainly didn’t want to find out.
Over the next twenty minutes I witnessed very little activity other than one or two hand-holding couples heading in the direction of their guest rooms, located in one of the two-storey arms that reached out from either end of the main structure. I crouched some more, my legs growing numb, waiting until I was absolutely convinced there was no one else around. And then, from somewhere behind me, I heard a rustling sound.
Awwwww maaaaaaaan! Jaegar? Security guard? Lion? Elephant? Godzilla?
Bit by bit I rose to my feet, coaxing blood back into them.
There it was again!
Slowly I turned on the spot and peered into the black ink around me.
More furtive shuffling, feet astir. There was definitely someone in the bushes behind me.
“Who’s there?” I called out in a forceful whisper, hoping the perpetrator of the noises knew English.
No answer.
Then I heard an unearthly grunting and the sound of running feet!
Whoever it was, was taking a run at me!
It was too dark by far to see what was happening, who was coming after me. Run? Hide? Grab a stick? But before I had time to react I saw a hideous piece of wrinkled skin and coarse hair emerge from the blackness. The thing raced toward me. I jumped back, horrified. My breath caught as my eyes made contact with two tiny, piercing, evil-looking, red orbs: the eyes of…a warthog.
I heard a sound erupt from my open mouth, and the animal sped away, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “Yeah, you better run, you son-of-a-bitch pig!” I cursed at the beast with ersatz bravado.
I’d had about enough of playing Marlin Perkins on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. I wanted indoors. Sure I was raised on a farm—with squealing pigs and docile cows and clucking chickens and other animals around—but few of them were capable of eating me, and none of them ran around wild, with nasty-looking underbites and smelling like carrion, scaring the bejeebers out of people. (Then again, there was Mr. Crow.)
I glanced at the welcoming façade of the Chobe guest house. If I were to waltz in,
who was to know I wasn’t a paying guest? And if Chobe ran its morning safari drives as early as Mashatu did, chances were it was late enough by now that most guests were tucked away in bed, and the only folks hanging about would be staff, which was good for me because that’s who I wanted to talk to anyway.
I’d seen no sign of Jaegar or the dark SUV with the evil grille or anyone else untoward. So, eager to avoid any further “Hakuna Matata” moments, I took a deep breath, checked my immediate surroundings one more time for lurking malevolence, then, satisfied I was alone and unwatched, marched determinedly toward the front entrance of the lodge (my ears at the ready to detect any scampering hog hooves behind, in front, or anywhere around me—damn pig).
Although it took only a moment, it seemed like an eternity before I was inside the building with its graceful, high arches, barrel-vaulted ceilings, tiled floors, charming sitting areas filled with thick-cushioned rattan furniture, and walls covered in stunning tribal art. Ahhhh, much nicer than the bush.
I began to walk about. The place was quieter than a cloistered convent on Saturday karaoke night. I reached the reception desk. Unmanned. I wandered further and found that all the large public areas were completely empty. Down a hallway opposite the front desk I discovered an activities office and a curio shop, both locked up tight. Across from the office, adjacent to a narrow set of steps leading to a second floor, a sign told me that this was the way to the Chobe Lodge spa. Bingo! I’d learned from the women at Mashatu that Matthew Moxley’s boyfriend, Kevan, was a masseur at Chobe. This had to be where he worked. And if not, I was definitely up for a good rub by some guy named Falcon right about then; it was a win-win situation.
I Pink Panther-ed my way up the stairs and into a hallway so dark I could step into oblivion and never know it. Using my hands to guide me, I slid along the wall until I finally reached a doorknob and turned it. Locked. Crap. It was obviously after hours, and I’d find no Kevan here. Yet. I debated breaking in, just to find what I could find, but decided against it, thinking there’d likely be little of a personal or revealing nature in an empty spa.
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